


Vengeance

by SolarMorrigan



Series: Those 100 [17]
Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: M/M, Peter is vindictive but Egon is creative, semi-public displays of affection, terrible westerns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 16:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3141134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter claims his revenge for the events of "A Fright at the Opera" and Egon does his best to get the hell out of dodge</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vengeance

**Author's Note:**

> This was kind of alluded to in the previous piece of this series, "Excuses." You can definitely read this as a standalone, though. It's mostly just Egon using the fact that Peter wants to drag him to the movies as an excuse to duck out of something...

“Peter, remind me why we are here again.” Egon demanded, shifting uncomfortably in the cheap theater seat.

“Aw, that’s an easy one.  We’re here because a few billion years ago there was this huge explosion that created all the matter that will ever exist and…”

“ _Peter_ ,” Egon cut across irately, “That is a gross oversimplification.  Also that’s not what I meant.”

“Well _someone_ doesn’t like having their lines stolen,” Peter muttered, “We are here, Egon, because I still owe you for that godawful mess that was the opera.”

Egon huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Honestly, Peter, you should really let that go.  It was well over a year ago and it wasn’t that bad…”

“I got kidnapped by a bunch of shrieking fat women on horseback!” Peter reminded him indignantly.

“Yes, well… perhaps if you had not been otherwise occupied.”

“Oh, shove it, Spengler, like you weren’t trying to score a date with that diva, too.”

Egon sighed.  Despite his unwillingness to be dragged to the movie theater that afternoon, he certainly didn’t want to spend the rest of the day snipping back and forth with Peter.  “I may have been,” He admitted, “But at least we both came to our senses in the end.”

To demonstrate his point, he reached over in the semi-darkness of the preshow theater and laid his hand over Peter’s.  It seemed he had achieved the desired effect when a small smirk crossed Peter’s face, though he said nothing.  The two men sat in silence for a few long minutes before the room began to darken as the screen lit up.  “What movie did you drag us to, again?” Egon leaned over and asked in a hushed voice.

“The Undertaker’s Daughter,” Peter whispered back, “A great Dewey LaMorte book that should make a great film.  You’ll love it.”

“Your knowledge of my interests never ceases to amaze me, Peter.” Egon replied drily, only to be shushed with a flap of Peter’s hand.

“It’s starting.  You’ve gotta pay attention to the beginning, or you’ll be lost.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Egon tried to pay attention.  He made a real, honest effort for about 10 minutes—after all, he distinctly remembered Peter paying attention for the first 10 minutes at the opera before he began to fidget.  After that, however, Egon’s attention began to wane and he searched himself for something to do.

At first, he pulled out the small, lined notebook that was ever-present in his pocket and attempted to make notes on repairs and improvements for some of the equipment, but the light of the movie screen was simply too dim to see by, particularly situated at the back of the theater as they were.  He only noticed the pad was pressed almost up against his nose as he squinted at his own writing when Peter reached over and gently pushed his arm down.  “You’re gonna make your eyesight even worse, Egon.” He chided quietly over the raucous sound of the first of what was sure to be many saloon fights, “Just pay attention to the movie.”

Easier said than done.

Egon sighed.  What he needed was something with a light source.  As he pondered his conundrum, he slipped his notebook back into his jacket pocket and felt his fingers bump against something else in his pocket.  _Of course_ , he grinned to himself, pulling the PKE meter out of the confines of his jacket, _how could I have forgotten?_   It wasn’t as though he ever went anywhere without it.  However, just as Egon was pulling the antennae up and preparing to switch the device on, Peter reached over and caught his wrist in an almost painfully tight grip.  “You turn that on and your precious PKE meter will meet an untimely and very unfortunate end, Spengler.”

Prepared though he was to argue, Egon found the words stuck in his throat at the determined set of Peter’s jaw.  This was not a Venkman making idle threats.  Egon sighed again.  “Very well, Peter.” He acquiesced, slipping the meter back into his jacket.

Peter rolled his eyes.  “Honestly, Spengs, it’s not that bad.  Just give it a chance, would you?”

“I have given many of your Westerns a chance, Peter.  Several dozen throughout the course of our friendship.  I have never enjoyed them and the ridiculous embrace the so-called hero is now in with who I assume must be the undertaker’s daughter informs me that this one will be no different.” Egon murmured, loud enough to be heard over the overdone dialogue.  He would have been more concerned about bothering the other patrons, but the only other New Yorker willing to come out to see a Western flick on a Wednesday afternoon was sitting in the front row and was unlikely to notice their quiet conversation.

“Well, maybe this one _will_ be different.” Peter shrugged, though the satisfied smirk playing at his lips suggested that he had not counted on Egon enjoying their trip to the movies at all, “Never know ‘til you give it a chance.”

Egon huffed and resettled in his seat.  Surely there had to be a way out of this.  It had barely been half an hour and Egon did _not_ plan on sitting through another hour of what little their film of choice had to offer.  Where was an ill-timed ectoplasmic entity when you needed one?  Such attacks always seemed to follow their band around, and now, when Egon was truly hoping for one, there was nothing.

Egon glanced over at Peter, who seemed enraptured by the film.  He almost felt bad for wanting to leave, but, well- “ _Well, missy, s’I like to say: don’t interfere with somethin’ that ain’t botherin’ you none_.”  Egon winced as the leading man delivered this piece of wisdom in his heavy, horrible accent, and decided that he had to find a way to get out of there as soon as possible.  Considering Peter, there were really only two things guaranteed to distract him from a task he set his mind on: ghosts and/or the promise of a paid bust, or…

Well, that was an idea.  Not one Egon much cottoned to thinking about in public, but desperate times, he supposed.  Just about anything would be better than sitting in the back of a theater, bored to tears.  Mind set, Egon very casually stretched his arms up and draped one over Peter’s shoulders.  Peter glanced over to him, a confused frown visible in the flickering light.  “What’re you doing, Egon?”

“Relaxing,” Egon replied quietly, attempting to remain nonchalant, “If you’re going to insist on keeping us here for the remainder of the movie, I suppose I may as well be comfortable.”

Peter glanced to the front of the theater, where the only other patron sat, unsure of the casual display of affection, but evidently decided they were safe enough in their seats at the back.  With one last calculating look in Egon’s direction, Peter settled back against his seat and relaxed beneath his partner’s arm.

In another 10 minutes, Peter was engrossed in the film again, following the movements of the lead man across a cattle field in the night as he ostensibly went to foil the plans of some cattle rustlers—at least, that sounded plausible enough; Egon wasn’t particularly paying attention.  Instead, in the near pitch-darkness of the theater, he took his chance and reached over to grasp Peter’s chin, turn his head gently, and closed the distance between their mouths.  Instinct dictated that Peter kissed back for about three seconds before shaking out of Egon’s hold.  “ _What the hell are you doing_?” Peter hissed, looking back toward the front row, where their fellow patron remained oblivious to his and Egon’s actions.

“If I recall some of your stories of, ah, previous conquests, this would seem to be the exact purpose of sitting in the back of a deserted movie theater.” Egon replied.

“Okay, that’s- I mean, I don’t- Not always, and,” Peter spluttered, finally gesturing towards the front row, “And that guy is gonna notice _something_ , Egon.”

“I’m fairly certain that man has been asleep since the opening sequence.  His popcorn fell onto the floor about fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well…” Peter tried once more, only to be cut off by the quick press of Egon’s lips.

“Peter, it seems very rare lately that we have an afternoon to ourselves.  I would like to enjoy it.” Though Egon was generally a terrible liar and he really did intend to get out of that theater as soon as possible, the words fell from his mouth as nothing but the truth.

Peter glanced around the room, at the entrance, at the screen, at the sleeping man, and finally back to Egon, before rolling his eyes.  “You’re a sap, y’know that?”

Egon smiled faintly in the dark.  “I should think I have no one but you to thank for that.”

Peter rolled his eyes but gave no further protest to spending the middle portion of the movie making out in the back of the theater.  At least until the second time he brought his knee up and banged it against the armrest.  “Damnit, this does not work as well when you can’t fit two people in a seat.” Peter griped, massaging his knee.

“I’m sure we could find somewhere more… spacious, if you wanted.” Egon offered.

“Jesus, yes, let’s get out of here.” Peter huffed, snatching Egon’s hand and dragging him down the empty aisle of seats.

Unable to resist, Egon leaned down and murmured in Peter’s ear as they walked.  “You’re sure you don’t want to stay for the remainder of the film?”

“Shut it, Spengler.” Peter released Egon’s hand as they reached the entrance, but tossed a grin over his shoulder that promised an afternoon of things that would undoubtedly be more interesting than a trite Western film, “We’ll just have to come back another time.”


End file.
